SHADOW

Meeting Your Eyes

"You have to get up," a soft, velvety voice pierced her dream.
A terrible dream—she was wandering through a dark, desolate land, and a shadow followed her. Her skin was covered in goosebumps, and she jolted awake. A dull pain stabbed her forehead as her eyes flew open.

"Ouch! Your head is thicker than it looks," muttered Count Ambrosio as he stepped away from her.
A round red mark had bloomed on his pale, marble-like forehead. He rubbed it, turning the spot an even angrier shade of purple.

"Oh my God, now you've got a red bump on your head," he gasped in dismay. "What am I going to do with you? We need some ice. I can't present you to the king with bruises on your face."
There was panic in Luka's eyes—it was the first time Sha had seen such emotion in him. He was usually so cold, unmoved by anything.

The Count growled softly, emptied a silver tray, and pressed the cold metal against her forehead. He rubbed her cheek gently and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"Does it hurt? I could call a doctor, but we have so little time." His eyes lingered on her forehead, and their gazes connected, making her shiver under his touch.

She felt heat gather across her face, and her stomach did somersaults.
Why do I keep thinking of kissing him every time he gets this close?
It's a weakness I have to overcome. Otherwise, any pretty face will outmaneuver me and humiliate me at every turn, Sha thought, trying to move away—but her heart and limbs wouldn't listen.

At the sight of the food that had been on the tray, she turned from him and walked confidently to the small table where the steaming buns and drinks sat. The heat would probably damage the wooden surface now that nothing protected it.
Food first. Beautiful men later.

"I need to eat or I won't be able to drag my carcass to your precious king. I'm starving, and my mouth is parched. It's torture—I've had nothing but a few biscuits all day!"

She cried out when he tried to pull her back and press the cold tray to her forehead again.

"Stay put for at least five minutes, then you can eat all you want," he grumbled, trying to hold her still. "You'll end up with a nasty bruise otherwise. Why did you move so suddenly?"

"Why did I move so suddenly?" she snapped. "Maybe because your precious, beloved princess told me she would destroy me. Then her personal maid brought 'welcoming' snacks to my door and gave me a devilish grin before leaving. I don't know if they planned to poison me or just slip in a good laxative so I'd embarrass myself in front of the king and the court. Who knows? After she stepped on my foot so hard I nearly tumbled down the stairs, I expected poison, honestly. Two attempts on someone's life in a few hours can make a person twitchy, you know!"

Sha's words burst out of her—frustration, fear, and anger all tangled together.

The Count smiled faintly and gently patted her hair.
"The princess will not harm you. You're under my protection. She's all growl and no bite, I assure you."

"You wouldn't be so sure if you'd seen the murder in her eyes the entire way through that corridor," Sha replied, biting into a bun. "If I'm so important to your plan, I suggest you keep your eyes on me."

It was filled with cheese and vegetables. Wonderful. Blissful.
The tea was perfect too—not too hot, not too cold—with a touch of lemon and spice. She smiled with every bite.

"You're usually so quiet," the Count remarked. "I hope you won't burst like this in front of other nobles. You need to be resilient—indifferent to these games. Otherwise, you'll just give them the satisfaction of tormenting you."

He sat down in front of her, crossing his legs. From his pocket, he took out a small crystal bottle of perfume and handed it to her.

"Put it on," he said softly. "It's the king's favorite."

The room was filled with tension, and every muscle in her body was clenched while the Count fussed around her. With nimble fingers, he grasped the nape of her neck and applied a dab of perfume that smelled of summer and rain. It was a mix of flowers unknown to her, but in her mind, a picture of summer bloomed, and shivers traveled along her skin where his big hands had turned so gentle. His breath moved the small strands of hair that he was now tucking neatly with pins, perfecting her hair. His old fingers, like cubes of ice against her hot skin, made her jumpy—a pain and a pleasure she had to endure silently.

Then he produced a small jar with a red substance that smelled sweetly of roses.

"What is this?" asked Sha, curiously admiring the beautiful package.

"It's lip paint. You didn't use makeup before?" asked the Count, leaning closer and inspecting her forehead in the window light.

"No. We weren't allowed to use makeup at the academy. No makeup, no frilly dresses, or perfume. If you were caught with such, you would be sent home and your tuition wouldn't be returned. So nobody dared—well, besides some very rich merchant girls, but I didn't have access to such luxury as lip paint."

As if to make things more uncomfortable, he dabbed his finger into the jar and started smearing it on her lips.

What was he doing? thought Sha. Was he trying to set fire to her mind? I must gather myself, she thought, and in that moment, her gaze met his. She squeezed her eyes shut in an instant and pushed herself away from his touch. A vision of him kissing her in the carriage on the first night pulsated behind her lids, and she gasped.

"May I apply it on my own? It feels strange to feel your cold fingers on my lips. I'm confused and dizzy from your actions," replied Sha, not opening her eyes yet.

The Count chuckled and stepped away from her. "I will wait outside then. You have one minute to collect yourself."